


Equal Odds

by miss_lady



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, But Some Tender Moments Mind You, But mostly angst, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:34:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_lady/pseuds/miss_lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today was the reaping of the 52nd Annual Hunger Games. As always, you had all 12 Districts, prepared to pull their tribute's names from the hats. But this time, the odds are more equal, as there are new contenders. This time, the capitol is forced to pull two names as well.<br/>Of course to any old person, that wouldn't matter. But it does matter, if you're Mycroft Holmes-and you're the Head Gamemaker-when Martha Hudson pulls your baby brother's name out of the bowl. It matters a LOT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equal Odds

**Author's Note:**

> My first shot at an actual fanfiction with actual chapters. I plan for there to be many chapters, and for the story to be of relative length, however we will have to see. My way of wording when I write is very odd, so I hope it's not too confusing.  
> Anyways, to make it less confusing I switch the POV from John-centric to Sherlock-centric every other chapter, or you can tell by the -.
> 
> This is going to be one hell of a story so Ladies and Gentlemen, hold on to you hats.

 

John wasn’t from the wealthiest Districts, but still, it was a place he was glad to call home. After all, he could be living out in 11 or 12. The fields of 9 were much better -and safer- than the mines anyways, not to mention food is a bit better too.

Or so he hears. He doesn’t know much about the other districts, but he knows more about the capitol than all the districts (including his own) combined. That’s really all they talk about on the telly, is the capitol and every big fabulous event and fad going on there at the moment.

 

And right now the biggest fad was Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

 

[ _The Panem Anthem plays_ ]

 

_"Hello Ladies and Gentlemen of Panem! "_

 

[ _The audience cheers_ ] _  
_

 

The booming voice of Caesar Flickerman filled John's living room. It was rare for a family of District 9 to own a television in their household, but they did, an old box one his father got from an old friend. John never really watched it, but on occasion when it was too stormy of a day, no one had anything better to do than sit inside and wait for it to pass. John thinks he hears his father in the other room, who hated him watching Caesar because of all the Capitol propaganda, but his father didn't say anything today as he passed from the living room to the kitchen, and John understood why. After all, tomorrow was the day of the reaping. 

John was never afraid of the reaping, but never looked forward to them either. His dad got especially quiet around the time of the reaping, mostly because he was afraid of loosing John, and John couldn't blame him for that- not after his mother died.

 

_"Today, we have some very special guests."_

 

That caught John's attention a bit, as he looked over from his father in the kitchen back to the screen. At center frame, stood Caesar ushering 2 posh young men. The younger boy looked around John's age, and was simply gorgeous-tall and excessively slender, thick black curls, icy blue eyes, and this sort of charming half-smile that looked slightly forced. The older one wasn't nearly as handsome, but they looked similarly related to the younger one the way he held himself, an air of superiority you could sense even through a television screen. _Brothers_ , John's mind jumped to automatically.

They sat down in two of the three nice egg-looking chairs, and Caesar took the other, and he continued talking, now having John's full attention.

 

_"Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, Panem's favourite siblings..."_

 

A dramatic pause.

 

_"...Let's get some more applause for the Holmes brothers!"_

 

[ _The audience cheers louder_  ] 

 

The brothers put on forced smiles and waved a bit, and became apparent to John they obviously didn't want to be there.

 

Caesar clasped his hands together and beamed.

 

_"Lets start with the esteemed Mycroft Holmes!"_

 

The older one -whom John assumed to be Mycroft- smiled tightly , and waited for the crowd to die down a bit.

 

" _Yes Caesar, a pleasure to be here."_

 

John could've sworn he heard the younger brother -who must've been Sherlock- mutter "hardly".

 

_"Hah hah! Alright, so Mycroft..."_

 

The man finally lowered his voice to imply they were getting down to business.

 

 _"Being the youngest Head Gamemaker ever- and one of the sons of the president- that's a lot of pressure isn't it?"_  
 

Caesar rested his hand on Mycroft's shoulder and looked so sympathetic, Sherlock looked like he wanted to vomit. No one else seemed to notice though. Mycroft's smiled tightened a bit more and he paused before speaking, crossing one leg over the other prestigiously. 

 

_"Surely, but nothing I cannot handle. I assure you, this year the Hunger Games will run as smoothly-if not smoother- than any other Hunger games to date. We have the arena mapped out, and everything's set, now all we need are our brave victors. The 52nd Hunger Games will be a sure success-"_

 

 John scoffed and turned off the television, not bothering listening to the rest of the interview. Just two more Capitol pigs, John thought, and went back to his room knowing he should probably get some sleep.

 

 

He had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a long day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 "Sherlock dear, try the cream pudding, it's delicious."

  
"I'm sure it is." Sherlock drawled, showing obvious distaste in both the pudding and being there altogether.

He sat at a long mahogany table, which had loads of fancy dishes, treats, and even a chocolate fountain. His brother sat beside him, and an older lady- his mother- across from them looking at Sherlock with a stern face, and at the end of the table sat their father, looking upon the three of them as he ate.

 

"Sherlock, listen to mummy when she's talking to you." Mycroft says, happy to seize the opportunity to play his role as the "good child", as he shoveled cream pudding into his mouth and gave Sherlock a side eye.

 

"Piss off, Mycroft."

 

"Boys!" Their mother says, a warning tone in it that shut both them up.

 

Their father remained quiet, as did the rest of the table, and the mother attempted to create conversation despite the obvious vibes coming from the rest of the table that they wanted it to  _remain_ silent. And of course, she brought up the worst subject possible.

 

"So honey, are we ready for the Hunger Games?" She asked with a smile.

 

Their parents continued to carry on meaningless chatter Sherlock managed to block out as he drummed his fingers on the table top, lost in thought. He never really cared about the Hunger Games, and quite frankly he still didn't. It was obligatory for the family of the President to watch the Games. Sherlock of course found them boring and predictable, and is always claiming that he could tell who was going to be this years victor (which he's proved to be right), so it lost it's taste very quickly. To Mycroft, the Hunger Games were going to be his ticket to becoming President, just like their father. it was his 3rd year hosting the games, and the first 2 were claimed to be quite extraordinary, genius even, the arenas he managed to create. The most interesting games yet, they called it. But even with his brilliance among the games, his brother still remained to be the Capitol favourite- to Mycroft's disdain. 

Not like that mattered to Sherlock, which made Mycroft even more upset. Sherlock was basically the Capitols darling, everyone loved him. Of course, it was always brain before body, for the both of them, but Sherlock didn't even have to  _try._ Beauty and Brilliance. That's what Sherlock had, and it gained the Capitols undivided affection. But Mycroft was his father's favourite, and in the end Mycroft knew that was the key to becoming President of Panem, and he would do anything it took to ensure that.

Finally-to everyone's relief- Dinner ended, and everyone went back to their respective bedrooms.

 

 

"Mycroft, you are going to be the future of this country."

  
  
His father said, looking out the glass window to the excellent view of the setting sun on the horizon of the vast city of the Capitol, and Mycroft stood beside him, appearing alert and intelligent. His father had a way of letting you know when it was your turn to speak, and when you should wait for him to continue.

 

"...You are going to be remembered, as both a Gamemaker, and leader. I have high hopes for you. But as for Sherlock..." 

 

His father paused.

 

"...I don't think there will be a place for him upon it."  
  
  


Mycroft paused, knowing this as his place to speak. He frowned, and choose his words carefully as to not disrespect him.

 

"You don't think so? Surely he could be Head Gamemaker after myself-"  
  
  


His father raised a hand, and Mycroft fell silent.

 

"That's irrelevant. But as you know, that's not why I've brought you here."

 

"Of course not." Mycroft said smartly.

 

"As you know, the games are tomorrow. I'm thinking we shake them up a little, don't you?"  
  


"Naturally."

  
  
Mycroft paused.

 

"...Did you have something in mind, father?"

 

"...I do."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think, I would be pleasured.


End file.
